


Reflection

by blewoutthestars



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bruce Banner Has Issues, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Christmas, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gift Exchange, Hugs, M/M, Shower Sex, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 01:57:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9050701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blewoutthestars/pseuds/blewoutthestars
Summary: Bruce isn't fond of mirrors. But things can change. Science Bros Secret Santa gift for @ganet on tumblr! Happy Christmas!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gassu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gassu/gifts).



Bruce hasn’t looked in a mirror since the accident. Even before it he didn’t seek them out, never exactly fond of what he saw reflected, but ever since his eyes gained that tiny ring of green around the pupil that never quite goes away he’s actively avoided them. He’s _seen_ himself, of course, he can’t escape reflective surfaces altogether. Especially not now that he lives in Stark tower – wait, sorry, _Avengers_ tower – where everything is so shiny it seems to have been designed to throw his faintly-warped reflection back at him wherever he looks.

Though, considering it was Tony that designed it, that very well could be the case. Tony isn’t afraid of mirrors. Tony _loves_ mirrors. When they walk down the street his head turns like a ballerina’s as they pass each shop window so that he can check his reflection. Once Bruce caught him peering at himself in their chrome kettle to fix his hair. A whole wall of his bathroom is one enormous mirror. Bruce tries not to go in there too often, but when he does he makes sure to turn off the fans and put the shower on extra hot to steam it up as quickly as possible. When they started sleeping together Bruce lived for a while in a state of anxiety, half-certain that Tony would have some enormous concealed mirror above the bed that would one day be suddenly revealed with the flick of a switch halfway through lovemaking. It sounds paranoid but, to be fair, it is _Tony_. Bruce doesn’t want to study himself at the best of times but least of all when he’s naked and sweaty and on the very edge of control. Thankfully this is something that, so far, hasn’t materialised.

Avoiding mirrors isn’t without its drawbacks. He’ll look in one long enough to shave or snip away a few overgrown curls but he puts it off for as long as possible, until Tony starts to tease him about his five-day stubble or messy hair, and then he gets it over with as quickly as possible. He has the world’s smallest shaving mirror that only shows him a sliver of his face at a time and sometimes it’s still too much. It’s crossed his mind that he could engage the services of a barber and be done with the tiresome process altogether but, even now that money isn’t a concern, it just seems wasteful. Overly decadent. Children starving all over the world and Bruce Banner spends $200 on a haircut and shave just because he’s not keen on looking in mirrors? No. That kind of thing just isn’t Bruce’s style.

He doesn’t think that Tony notices. He knows for a fact that the other members of the team and the world in general think that ‘scruffy scientist’ is just his aesthetic; that he’s too concerned with the finer points of biochemistry to bother much with personal appearance. It’s fine that they think that. He sure as hell wouldn’t want to discuss it with anyone, not even Tony. There wouldn’t be anything to discuss. It’s tiny; a non-issue. Nothing. So it annoys Bruce even more how much he finds himself thinking about it.

Then, on Christmas eve – five months after Bruce moved into the tower and three since he and Tony got ridiculously drunk and woke up in bed together sporting several stinging purple love bites apiece that they spent the next fortnight trying to cover up – Tony unknowingly puts his foot right in it. 

One of the things about Tony that would surprise a lot of people is that, even though he could order anything he wanted from anywhere in the world and have it delivered in mere hours, he likes to go shopping for gifts. For the people he actually cares about, anyway. Business contacts, politicians who Tony met once when he was drunk at a gala and wouldn’t be able to pick out of a line-up; these people get the tastefully-wrapped Stark Industries gift basket that Pepper’s assistant’s assistant puts together each year, but Tony insists on buying gifts for his near-and-dear in person.

And Bruce gets dragged along for the ride, even though it’s been years since he had anyone to buy gifts for or even really observed Christmas at all, so it’s Tony who ends up choosing most of the gifts that Bruce is supposedly giving. Bruce really doesn’t mind. In the throng of stressed Christmas shoppers no one looks twice at either of them and that makes a nice change.

They’ve been out shopping three times already, and everybody in the team has enough gifts to sink a small ship, but Tony insists on going out again on Christmas Eve because he’s sure that the biggest stores save some of their best stock for the last-minute shoppers. Bruce thinks it’s more likely that Tony just likes being a part of the crowd for once, in the same way that he does, but he goes along with it anyway. They hit all the major department stores and Tony drags him by the hand past heaps of twinkling baubles and sweets wrapped in cellophane, pink in the cheeks and giddy in a way that Bruce hasn’t seen before.

They breeze through the home departments without stopping – if any of the team needed any home furnishings they’d already _have_ them – until the third store. Bruce is forging ahead towards menswear when Tony’s grip on his hand tugs him to a halt, almost making him stumble. It takes him a moment to realise why they’ve stopped. Then his stomach plummets into his shoes.

The mirror is ornate. It is huge. And he and Tony are reflected right in the middle of it.

His first instinct is to pull away but Tony is holding on too tight. He grudgingly stands still as Tony slips hands around his waist, pulling him close so that his goatee rubs against the cord of Bruce’s fleece-lined winter coat. Bruce stares at his shoes, at the display of wall clocks obstinately ticking away each awkward second opposite them; anywhere but at his own reflection.

But then a whisper in his ear, so close and quiet it tickles, says “Look.” And, much to his own surprise, he does.

He looks at Tony first. He’s got an enormous Doctor Who-esque scarf wrapped around his neck and when they were outside he was wearing a stupid knitted bobble hat so his usually flawless hair is flattened and messy. This is how Bruce likes him best. Sure, the expensive suits that he wears for the benefit of the paparazzi are very nice to look at but Bruce has always preferred him in an old tshirt and jeans with grease marks on his face. Now, nose and cheeks still pink from the cold of New York streets in December and grinning from ear to ear, he might be the most beautiful Bruce has ever seen him.

His gaze slips down Tony’s neck, across his shoulders, down the arms that encircle his own waist. That part isn’t too difficult to look at. He already knows he’s put an inch or two on his waistline since moving into the tower because his waistbands fit better – he has such a high metabolism that maintaining his weight was difficult when he was living as a nomad and most days just about scraping enough calories to get by – but he’s never really looked to try and see a difference. Sure, he’s noticed his stomach fill out a little since he started being able to eat properly on a daily basis, but now he sees that his whole body looks fuller, healthier. 

In spite of himself he moves his gaze up, up, up; over his chest, past his neck until he’s looking himself right in the face. It’s different to how he remembered. Very different. His skin looks less sallow; the dark circles under his eyes have diminished to barely-there smudges. 

For the first time in a long while Bruce looks at himself, studies his reflection, and realises something. He likes what he sees. He looks good. He looks _happy_. 

“We look so great together.” Bruce would be able to _hear_ Tony’s grin in his voice even if he couldn’t see it. Still slightly to his surprise he finds himself smiling back.

“You’re right. We do.”

***

Over time Bruce slowly gets used to looking at himself again. It takes a while to stop reflexively turning away every time he passes a mirror but gradually he becomes accustomed to the man he sees reflected back at him. He even begins to get used to that ring of green around his pupils. So many parts of his appearance have changed since he last really looked at himself – the fine lines of his face, the grey peppering his hair – that a little bit of eye colour no longer seems like such a big deal.

On January 3rd he has sex with Tony in the shower for the first time. He happens to glance over into that enormous, ridiculous mirror as he fucks him; sees the way their flesh moves together, the looks on their faces. Suddenly it doesn’t seem like such a pointless addition to the bathroom décor.

Afterwards they towel each other off and Tony presses kisses to his shoulder and neck when he reaches up to dry Bruce’s hair. 

That night, wrapped tight in Tony’s arms, Tony tells him in a half-horny-but-too-sleepy-to-do-anything-about-it sort of way how much he enjoyed their shower together; how hot it was being able to watch themselves fuck. He’s quiet for a while, then:

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

It could be lascivious but Tony’s voice is quiet, almost pensive. Bruce feels a pang in his chest.

“Sorry.”

“Hey, no.” Tony strokes his hair, winding curls around and through his fingers. It’s one of his habits; once Bruce teased that he might just clipper all his hair off and Tony nearly threw a fit. “I didn’t mean it like that. I know it’s not easy.”

Bruce doesn’t say anything. He never thought Tony had noticed the way he avoided looking at himself.

“I’m just glad you’re starting to come around,” Tony carries on. “Look at that gorgeous face. What’s not to love?”

This conversation is harder than it should be. Bruce is a bit ashamed that they even have to have it at all. It’s a good thing that he’s practically on top of Tony because when his voice comes out it’s a barely-audible whisper. “It’s not that. I don’t think I’m ‘ugly.’ Still not sure quite _exactly_ what it is _you_ see in me but, hey, I’m not arguing. Ever since the accident I just… I don’t know. I never wanted to look.”

“I get that. Believe me, I still don’t get much of a kick out of actually _looking_ at this thing.” Tony taps the arc reactor with a finger. “It’s tough being reminded about shitty things. And Jesus, Bruce, you should have _seen_ my abs before this thing happened. They were things of beauty.”

It’s a blatant gambit to make Bruce smile but it works. He jabs Tony in the ribs none too gently. “Your abs are excellent and you know it.”

Tony shrugs with the shoulder that Bruce isn’t lying on. “Yeah, you’re right.” He pauses, then: “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“You’re going to anyway.”

“You’re not wrong. Anyway, all these years you’ve been afraid of your own reflection-”

“Not afraid. Just avoiding.”

“Okay, okay, whatever. All this time, what exactly have you been scared of seeing?” Tony has his head turned awkwardly trying to look at Bruce properly. Bruce shuffles back on to his own pillow, allowing Tony to turn on his side and face him without giving himself a crick in the neck.

“I guess…” Bruce scrunches up his face, considering it. He’s never really, truly thought about it before. It was always just an impulse, an instinct not to look. “I guess I thought that it wouldn’t be me looking back. Not the ‘me’ I knew.”

“Well, then, you’re a dummy.” Tony leans in until their noses are almost touching. “I didn’t know you before you got so well acquainted with Big Green, but the Bruce Banner I see right here? Right now? He’s pretty awesome. He’s kind, and adorable -” Tony begins to punctuate his words with kisses, peppering them over Bruce’s face. “- and brave, and loyal, and so fucking smart it gives me a science boner every time he talks equations. I think that’s a pretty good guy to be looking back at you, if I’m honest.”

Bruce thinks about it. He thinks about the team and how they’ve accepted him even after everything that happened on the helicarrier. He thinks about that day last week when he lost track of time in the lab and Natasha brought him a plate of food then dragged him back to watch a movie with her and Clint. He thinks about Tony and the way his whole face brightens when Bruce comes into the room. 

Tony never, ever looks that way at anybody else.

“Well… I guess you’re not _totally_ wrong about that.”

“You betcha.” Tony pokes Bruce until he rolls on his back, letting Tony snuggle in close to his side. “Hey, what do you think about getting a mirror on the ceiling? Very discreet, of course; I’m not trying to recreate the Playboy Mansion here. Though actually you’d be surprised at how tasteful some of the décor is…”

Tony yammers on, distracting himself and going off on tangents until Bruce can’t follow what he’s talking about anymore. It doesn’t matter. It’s soothing. He falls asleep with a smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Want to flail about Tony and Bruce with me? You can find me on tumblr [here](http://squishylittlebear.tumblr.com/).


End file.
